


A Furtive Sense of Decadence

by Wynja2007



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Belonging, Emotions, Gen, Meditation, Swimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-07 00:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4241844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wynja2007/pseuds/Wynja2007
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock takes time out from his busy schedule to reflect and relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Furtive Sense of Decadence

There is the moment of silence, of poise, of looking into the shifting surface for, however still the air, the surface does, indeed, shift.

It is, of course, quite logical.

The motion of the ship, the small vibrations of the engines winding us through space, the slight alterations in temperature and the circulating system all take their toll, and the result is this undulating surface shimmering in shades unexpectedly, but again logically different from the colour of the tiles lining pool.

I ready myself, take the breath I know I will not need, and point myself towards the water...

There is barely a splash; it is as if the water has moved aside for me, made way for my intrusion into its world. Around me the roiling song of its turbulence in my ears, around my skin the cool and silken caress as I pull my legs for the kick and breach the surface as my feet push the water aside, my reaching hands scoop it behind me...

I fall into the rhythm of the stroke, pull and kick and ride the impetus before the pull again... and the soft water breaking over and around me as I allow my senses to contract, to focus only on the zen of swimming.

The simplicity slows me, stills my racing thought processes, enables a return to calm.

For I am not, as they believe, as they would have each other believe, devoid of emotion; none of us are, no Vulcan, certainly. It is only that we have trained ourselves to control, to internalise, to process...

It is merely that I, half-human as I am, have rather more to process than that of my Vulcan kindred.

In truth, I can achieve similar states of consciousness by meditation, but I have found, somehow, it takes longer to reach that state of calm balance which is so essential to maintaining my placid facade.

My home planet is an arid world, dusty and dry as our humour, but there is water. 

We did not, generally, waste it in swimming pools.

So this is decadence, luxury.

Is it human of me, that I enjoy it?

If I am unobserved in that enjoyment, does it matter?

Voices, presently, interrupting the calm of the pool. It is no matter. I am calm. I am done here.

As I pull myself from the waters, I am hailed. 

'Hey, Mr Spock! Don't rush off just because of us!'  
I  
'I have duty on the bridge in forty three minutes, Ensign,’ I say. 'It is not because of you.'

'Well, one of us has to mind the ship!'

A new voice, laughing and light, familiar almost as my own. It is my captain, and my friend.

'Don't go crashing her into any planets, now, will you, Spock?'

'Captain, I will endeavour not to do so.'

And he turns away, throwing himself into the pool, drawing himself up to make as big a splash as possible. Typical Jim Kirk, always one of the crowd.

I head for the showers. 

I am not one of the crowd: I have never found a crowd to which I wanted to belong.

 

It is how I am.


End file.
